


The Perils of Too Much Calming Potion

by phoenixgal



Series: Scenes from a Life [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, First Time, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgal/pseuds/phoenixgal
Summary: Harry is anxious after the war is over. In an effort to get over it, he overdoses on a potion and a night of lowered inhibitions ensues.





	

It was nice to have Hermione there, studying at his new dining table, though he couldn't quite imagine what she was studying since Hogwarts wouldn't be in session for another two weeks.

“You're up,” she said, seeing him come downstairs. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

It was a pretty mild rebuke, but it still bit. The potions Healer Fernsby gave him made him sleepy at all the wrong times. Hermione didn't even know about them. A couple of times, he had heard her wake up in the night screaming as well and there was the fact that she was in a jumper in August. He knew he wasn't the only one who was suffering, but they weren't talking about any of it. He wondered if she talked to Ron.

“There's coffee in the kitchen,” she said. “Believe it or not, Kreacher made it. I'm pretty sure he didn't even spit in mine.”

“Thanks. What are you studying?”

“Magical law,” she said. “I'm trying to get ahead of the trial process. Did you read the piece in the Prophet about it?”

“No, but I sat through a long meeting with Kingsley and half the Wizengamot about it,” he said. “The Malfoys are going to be up first.”

She hummed thoughtfully as he put milk in the still warm coffee from the pot. “Do you know what you'll say at your testimony?”

“I'm dreading it. But I feel like I have to speak on Draco and Narcissa's behalf after everything. Lucius can rot in Azkaban as far as I'm concerned.”

“Dumbledore would have liked Draco to be redeemed, I think,” Hermione said. “Have you given any more thought to coming back with me. It's not too late, you know. And then Ginny...”

Harry set his coffee down. “No.”

“I was talking to Neville and...”

Harry winced. He wanted to think about Neville even less than he wanted to think about Ginny. At the start of the summer, he'd run into Neville at Colin Creevey's funeral and things had happened that he really didn't want to think about. Thing that still made his body shiver and his head swim.

“What happened between you two?” she asked, seeing the look on his face.

“Nothing,” Harry lied. “And it doesn't matter. Kingsley offered me a job and I'm taking it. I'm excited to take it. I need something to do. Something that isn't just meetings and press briefings every time someone new is brought in. I need to be out there bringing in the last Death Eaters.”

“It's going to take years to find everyone,” Hermione said. “Some people are talking about a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which I think is a good idea. I want to get down to the Muggle library and get some reading done on that as well. I have some ideas for Emmaline Heatherstout since she got put in charge of the trials process. Really, everything in the magical world to do with law is so outdated. Picking this all apart is going to take a decade. If I could get started now, I probably would too. I just think I need those NEWT's if I'm ever going to be taken seriously...”

It was nice when Hermione got going. She required so little from him when she was fired up about something. He suspected that she needed things to be fired up about as much as he did. She had been alternately distracted and enthusiastic since getting back from Australia with Ron. Her parents were staying there for at least awhile longer so she'd come to stay with Harry. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she and Ron were sleeping together, but despite his offer that Ron was welcome to be there as well, she put him off. It was clearly not a topic they were supposed to talk about. On the other hand, Hermione prodded him about Ginny at least once a day.

He hadn't seen Ginny alone since the day he had brought her to Grimmauld Place and they'd failed to have sex in a rather spectacular fashion. That was another thing he really didn't want to think about.

“...so what do you think?” Hermione asked. “Harry?”

“Um...”

He thought she would be annoyed with him but instead she smiled indulgently. “Finish your coffee.”

“Sorry, Hermione. I think I'm still waking up.”

“Did you… sleep all right?”

The hesitancy with which she asked the question made him think she wanted to talk about it all. But what was there to say?

“Probably about as well as you.”

Hermione shut her book and looked at him, her dark eyes earnest. “I'm worried about you alone here once Hogwarts starts again.”

“I'll have Kreacher.”

“Harry.”

“You can come up on weekends if you like. I heard there won't be limits on the eighth year students.”

She pursed her lips. “I'm going to be busy studying.”

“I'm going to be busy with work.”

“I'll have Ron with me. I just worry you don't have anyone here.”

They faced each other across the table for a minute.

“Sometimes,” Hermione said slowly, and Harry recognized the way she spoke when she was choosing her words carefully, “I think about everything and I nearly break down. But I have my parents and… and I have Ron now. And I want to make sure you know you still have us. And that we're here for you.”

“I know that, Hermione,” he said, feeling impatient.

“Do you?” she asked. She looked for a moment like she was going to get up and hug him but instead she crossed her arms, as if hugging herself inside her oversized jumper.

“Yeah.” Harry scowled. “I'm going out.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes.”

He looked down at his clothes, which were suitably Muggle. Popping into the kitchen, he opened the back of the cupboard where he had the potions from Healer Fernsby. There was one full vial left. He grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket.

Ignoring Hermione's looks, he found his trainers at the doorway then walked out.

As soon as he was a few blocks away, he felt childish. He knew Hermione was trying to help. The healer he'd been seeing had said he should try talking to his friends. He just didn't know what there was to say. They had won, so he was sure they should have been happier.

Harry told himself that he could ignore his tumultuous emotions and forced himself to take care of errands. He took the tube to Diagon Alley and got his bank privileges reinstated by signing a huge pile of forms while several goblins stared at him menacingly. He stopped into a Muggle furniture shop and ordered a new sofa to be delivered to the neighbor's house. He'd have to be there when it came to intercept it.

He wanted to stop for a pint, but walking past the Leaky Cauldron made him decidedly nauseated thinking about inevitably being recognized and dealing with people wanting to talk about the war. Just walking through Gringotts had been bad enough, so he didn't go inside.

As evening came on, he took a long walk through Muggle London. He hadn't been out much because crowds had been annoying. When he had last seen Ginny and taken her into Muggle London, she had said she liked how anonymous it was and he was finding he liked that too. He pulled his mind away from thinking about Ginny. He didn't like the crowds and people kept startling him, but if he held tight to his wand in his pocket, he found it was fine. And walking felt good.

It didn't matter that they had won, that he had a house and a job and plenty of money and his best friends had gotten together and he was thrilled about it. None of that seemed to make any difference. It seemed like every shite thing that ever happened was all catching up to him at once. He had forgotten how to have fun.

“Fuck,” Harry said aloud, into the anonymity of the streets. No one even looked at him twice as people bustled by. It was a Friday night and the street was turning from people headed home from work into people headed out for the evening.

He let go of his iron grip on his wand and fumbled for the vial of potion. Healer Fernsby had been clear about the doses. This vial was supposed to last for another week. No more than one sip or small spoonful per day.

Harry uncorked the little bottle and downed its contents in one long drink.

Madame Pomfrey's potions had often had a sort of sour taste back at school. Healer Fernsby's calming potion was nothing like any of the distasteful things Harry had been forced to suffer through at the Hogwart's infirmary over the years. It had a sort of light, almost citrus-like taste.

Drinking so much at once immediately went to his head. Harry felt lightheaded and a sense of euphoria floated down over him. A sip of the potion tended to take the edge of his anxiety and make the world seem a little more gray and a little more like somewhere he could deal with. Apparently the whole vial didn't dull a thing. Harry felt like he could do anything. It was a bit like the heady feeling he had after taking felix felicis, though he knew there would be no luck involved.

But it hardly seemed to matter. He had wanted to stop for a pint, but hadn't wanted to deal with the Leaky Cauldron. He could have a pint in a Muggle pub. Or more than that. He could go out to a Muggle club if he wanted. He could even go to a gay club. He could get drunk on Muggle alcohol, dance to loud Muggle music, and snog whoever he wanted if he let himself be another anonymous Muggle.

It was funny. He hadn't liked crowds since the war ended. He had spent so long on the run, skittish of people and then driven to fight or flight. But a crowd sounded good now.

It didn't take him long, wandering onto a busy street, to find a pub. There was a rainbow flag in front and a young man standing outside smoking who eyed him up and down appreciatively.

It wasn't that late so it wasn't very busy yet, though the crowd was starting to increase. There was music, but it was obviously mostly just a pub. Harry took an empty barstool and ordered a pint of whatever the bartender on tap. It was slightly warm and rich and dark and nothing like butterbeer. As soon as he finished it, he ordered another. The beer and the potion together made him feel warm and cheerful.

By the time the second pint was in front of him, two young men had approached him and asked if he was at uni, and if so where. He faked his way through talking to them for a bit then had yet another pint. He felt looser and happier than he had in weeks. Maybe in months. An older man chatted him up for a bit and Harry suppressed a laugh about being flirted with by someone twice his age.

Somehow he found himself standing and talking to a young man with shaggy blond hair in trousers that looked like they needed to be sprayed on. Harry wasn't sure, short of magical application, how clothes could get that tight, but they were smashingly gorgeous and he found himself telling the young man exactly that.

“Fancy a quick one in back?” the young man asked.

Harry nodded and the next thing he knew, they were in a loo that wasn't a loo. The young man moved his hands to Harry's arse and squeezed then pulled their hips together and pressed Harry against the wall. Their lips never touched, but Harry felt the other man's mouth on his neck, sucking and biting up to his ear.

And then he felt the man's erection grind into his own through their jeans.

It was wonderful. The smell of sex and sweat was arousing. The forbidden nature of being in a back room getting off with a random Muggle, a man, added to the arousal coursing through Harry as well. Harry didn't even know what he wanted exactly, he just knew that he wanted. He wanted to feel more of the man's body. He wanted to run his hands through his hair. He wanted to taste his full lips. He wanted to run his hands over his muscles and feel them move and flex. But it was so overwhelming that instead Harry just stood there practically panting with desire.

Luckily for him, the other man seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He paused his thrusting to bring his hand to the fly of Harry's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping then pulled out his erection. He did the same to himself and Harry was met with the vision of their dicks together, pants pulled down at the hips, erections bobbing up at each other. He was mesmerized as he looked. The other man's dick was purplish at the end and already dripping slightly, the foreskin back.

Harry could not seem to stop himself. The alcohol and the potion together seemed to have made him lose all inhibitions. His fingers eagerly wanted to feel and he wrapped his hand around the other man's erection with a gasp of arousal as his hand closed around it. The skin was so smooth, pulled taut over his hard length. His hand was on another man's dick.

“Hands, eh?” the man said. “I'm right good with my mouth.”

“I want to touch,” Harry said. He was already moving his hand against all that glorious hardness. The other man's dick was longer than his own, but maybe not so thick. He knew what he liked and he wondered if he could do that for this man.

“Together then,” the man said. “But let's get the lube.”

The man squeezed a great dollop of slick, clear goo onto his hand lined up their dicks together, wrapping Harry's hand with his.

He could watch this way and he found his eyes were fixed on the two of them together. It was incredible. The hardness of this man and the fast, tight strokes. They both thrust and watched. Harry was thrilled to see the other man was also gazing down at him.

And then he was coming, his legs going weak, knowing that without the support of the wall behind him he would have collapsed altogether. And just as his own orgasm subsided, he watched his partner follow him, continuing to jerk them together, his head pressed into Harry's neck, his hand supporting himself against the wall that Harry was still pressed to.

And then Harry was left with an odd sensation of emptiness.

“I don't even know your name,” he said, slightly astounded, as he watched the other man zip himself back up and smooth out his hair.

“Max,” he said, with a slightly laugh. “You're obviously new to all this. But that was fun. Be careful out there, right?”

He left Harry alone in the stall. Harry felt the odd euphoria of the potion and the buzz of the alcohol, but also a strange sense of depression and emptiness that he hadn't felt before. He had liked that. But it had not been especially fulfilling.

He stumbled out of the stall and back through the pub and then out onto the street. He was still filled with the sensation that he could do anything he liked, but he no longer even knew what that would be.

He could go back to Grimmauld Place and talk to Hermione. She might be with Ron. He was often there in the evenings. He could confess everything to them. The nightmares, the overreactions to stupid things, the potions, having failed Ginny, having kissed and rubbed off with Neville, having just had anonymous sex with a Muggle in a pub.

Ginny. He thought about her again and all the warm, mushy, cheerful feelings he used to feel for her sixth year came rushing back. He hadn't let himself think of her at all during that year looking for horcruxes and hallows. And then everything had been so overwhelming and griefstriken after the final battle. But Ginny was what he had always envisioned for his life. Ginny was what he wanted. With Ginny he could have kids and grow old and be normal.

Harry had wandered along crowded streets, past people dressed to go out. It really was late now. He went down a side street and found a quiet spot where he could disapparate.

When he arrived in the meadow outside the Burrow, he staggered and immediately realized he'd probably been too drunk to apparate. It was a miracle he hadn't splinched himself. And now he had no way to get home if he needed to.

He knew, rationally, that it was the potion, but he didn't find he could care. In fact, he laughed. He looked up at the stars, which were shining on a clear, summer night over the meadow.

When he got to the house, he realized that he had no idea how to get to Ginny. And there were protections. Everyone was obviously asleep. If he tried to get in, he would inevitably trigger something. The only reason he was able to walk up to the house in the first place was that he was trusted. But anyone trying to sneak inside would upset something.

He did knew where Ginny's room was. Harry went around to her window, but it was up high. Looking around the garden, he picked up a tiny pebble and tossed it up. It missed its mark by a long shot and Harry worried he was going to hit the wrong window.

Hermione liked to tease him that he was always forgetting he was a wizard. He pulled out his wand and tried again, this time casting a quick wingardium leviosa on a pebble. It worked and sailed up to Ginny's window, plinking itself against the glass and then falling back to the ground.

Harry waited, but nothing happened. He supposed he could try more rocks, but he suddenly had a better idea.

A few minutes later, he was rising up on an ancient broom. It clearly didn't fly very well, but he didn't need to do any fancy maneuvers to get to the window. When he got there, he hovered and knocked, rapping out an obviously human pattern a few times.

When Ginny came to the window, peeking through the curtains and reeling back in surprise before she opened the window, Harry couldn't wipe the grin from his face. Her red hair was messily pulled up in a rough bun and tendrils of it fell around her face. He could see her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightdress, a short white garment with tiny straps over her bare shoulders.

“Harry!” she said, flinging the window open. “What in the world are you doing? Is that Charlie's old broom?”

“Come out to the garden with me,” he said.

“What?”

He reached his hand out to her touching her bare, freckled arm through the window. “Come out to the garden with me. I missed you. I wanted to see you.”

She looked concerned. “Harry, we haven't even spoken since… Well, you know. I thought…”

“Please,” he begged. If she would just come with him, he would tell her anything she wanted. He thought he'd even be able to talk about the horrible, failed sex they'd tried to have. He might even be able to say the word impotent, a dreaded, secret word that he hadn't uttered even in his thoughts.

“Are you all right?”

“Just come to the garden and talk to me. I don't want to talk through the window.” He ran his fingers along her arm.

“Talk?” She looked almost amused and he felt his smile grow.

“Yeah...”

She sighed and climbed on the broom behind him. It immediately buckled slightly, unhappy with the added weight. But they didn't need to go far. Harry got the broom to lethargically wobble its way over to behind the broom shed.

“You're a terrible flyer,” Ginny said as they dismounted together.

“It's a terrible broom,” he said. He sat on the ground, which was soft and mossy in the shade of the trees behind the shed.

“Well, it is older than us.”

“I heard you made quidditch captain,” he said. He ran his hands along her arm as she sat next to him. She had so much of her pale flesh exposed. He suddenly wanted to touch all of it so much.

“It feels stupid sometimes, caring about quidditch coming back,” she said. “But I'm beyond excited about forming a new team.”

“Good. We need stupid things,” Harry said. “Now more than ever.”

She ran her hand up his chest and he felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. Her fingers were so delicate.

Neither of them initiated the kiss. It just happened, both of them leaning forward at the same time. Her lips were so soft and she tasted of cinnamon and apples. Her nightgown was so thin and loose. He ran his hands over it and he felt like she may as well have been naked.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“I want you,” he said resolutely. He did want her. He hadn't even known that when he got her out of the window and into the garden that he would, but now that he had her there on the mossy ground, he wanted nothing more than to be naked with her. The bloke at the pub earlier had been nothing. He wanted whatever this was with Ginny. That had made his body explode. This was making his head explode and his body was following.

She sighed deeply and he felt sure he'd said the right thing.

The kissing went on and on. In between, as they came up for air, they stripped naked in the warm night. He tasted her lips and her neck and her ear. And then, once the nightgown was off, he mouthed her nipples and felt the weight of her breasts, firm and round. They never seemed this big when she was kit up to play quidditch or in her school robes or in casual Muggle clothes around the house. He kissed at them and then down her abdomen. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight.

“I don't have my wand,” she murmured. “I… can you do the contraception charms?”

“Can you use mine?”

She nodded and accepted it, saying the spell quietly then handing it back. “I think we're good,” she said.

There was an awkwardness to this that they hadn't felt before when she had pushed him down on the bed at Grimmauld Place. But it was more arousing and exciting. Just hearing her say the contraception spell, something she had probably done earlier and he had missed before, was exciting to Harry.

“Can I…?” he asked, his hands on her knickers.

Ginny nodded and they kissed again and he slid them off and she helped, moving her legs to help them come all the way off. Harry slid his own pants off then. His erection sprang free and he heard Ginny gasp slightly.

She pulled him on top of her, urging him up and over her, spreading her legs beneath him. For a few minutes they kissed and pressed against each other. Harry wanted this so much, but he wanted to see her feel pleasure even more. The stories he'd heard about girls not liking sex over the years worried him slightly. But there was no fear. He could just say it. He could ask Ginny what to do.

He slid off her, laying on his side next to her. He drifted his hand down to her mound and felt the springy curls there. “Tell me what to do,” he said quietly.

“What… what do you mean?” Ginny's voice quavered.

“Show me how to make you feel good.” And then he knew what he wanted. “Touch yourself. Use my hands.”

For a moment, he didn't think she would do it. But then she grasped his hand and guided his fingers lower.

She was so wet and slick. Her hand on his urged him to rock his fingers back and forth so he did. And it was easy. The folds of skin were confusing, but so soft. He couldn't help comparing it to his experience earlier. The man in the pub had been all hardness. Muscle and erection and press of bodies. Ginny was smoothness and softness. The feminine smell of her, earthiness mixed with the smells of the garden, wafted up to him. Harry moaned slightly. It was sexy and perfect in its own way.

Her fingernails dug into his hand slightly as she rocked back and forth against him. “Inside,” she murmured. “I want...” She was so breathless.

He moved his other hand and felt around her entrance. “Like this?” He couldn't believe the ease with which his finger slid inside her, or the intensity of the sounds that came out of her. Her fingers gripped around his wrist and he curled his fingers on her, rubbing frantically at the slippery bits of flesh as he moved his other hand slowly in and out.

She cried out, obviously trying to control her gasps and screams. He felt the muscles around his finger tighten and then loosen in spasms.

Before he could figure out what was happening, she had gripped his hips and was tugging at them, pulling him back over her. Her hands sought his erection and she pulled him inside her.

There was a moment when she gasped and cried out and he worried that it was too much. But then her cries subsided and it almost didn't matter because he was close and he had to move.

So he did. He thrust into her and felt delirious with all that wet warmth surrounding him. She was tight and it was perfect. He came almost immediately once he was sure she wasn't in pain, jerking his hips against her with as much control as he could muster.

Afterwards, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next. Ginny made what was obviously a slightly unhappy noise below him and he nearly leaped off her. “Was that… was that all right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Couldn't you tell? I was just uncomfortable on the ground with you on top was all.” She wrapped her arms around her and shivered slightly so Harry reached for her nightgown and handed it to her.

Once she had it back on, she leaned forward and kissed him. “That was… I liked that a lot,” she said.

“Me too.”

She laughed. “Yeah. I could tell. I guess George was wrong.”

“What? Wrong about what?”

“Oh.” Ginny suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Nothing. It's stupid. Just… after that night, he told me that maybe you fancied blokes. That you might be bent.”

“Oh!” Harry said. “I think I am.”

He had known that it was the potion driving him to do some of these things. He knew he wouldn't have gone to a Muggle pub, pulled a bloke he'd never met, knocked on Ginny's window in the middle of the night, and then made love to her behind the broom shed without having downed that whole vial of potion. But this stark admission really brought home for him how much the potion had effected him. He really had no filter. He would say anything.

“Oh!” Ginny said, though she didn't move away.

Harry found that he was feeling the edges of panic creep back in. He struggled to find the words. “I… I...”

She was going to hate him. How could he have done that? He had just had sex with two people, one a complete stranger, in a single night. He shook slightly.

“Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “I'm not… it's all right if you do. I know about Neville. And I thought about it. And I'm not… bothered. I don't think. I just don't understand...”

“How did you know about me and Neville?”

“What?” Ginny shook her head. “No. I mean. Neville told me he was gay. What about you and Neville?” Her voice turned into a squeak.

Harry forced himself to breathe. “I took too much potion,” he admitted. “I need… I need to say a lot of things to you. I think I meant to say them straight away and then instead we did this and we shouldn't have. I wanted to so much and I think I got carried away. And if you hate me...”

“I can't hate you, Harry,” Ginny said. “I just can't. I love you too much. What do you mean you took too much potion?”

Harry felt all the words come spilling out. “Calming drought. I got it from a healer because I was having panics all the time. Ever since the battle, Gin. I couldn't sleep and I had nightmares. And it wasn't just the stuff at the battle. There were all these things that happened while we were away. But it was also old stuff, stupid stuff. I didn't really… Well, I still don't understand. When I came to Hogwarts, I thought I didn't care anymore about all the terrible things the Dursleys did to me. All the times they beat me or locked me up without food. And the times Voldemort was possessing me. And when I saw you nearly die in the Chamber of Secrets. And when I saw Cedric die. And Hedwig. And I know that's stupid. I mean, Fred is dead for Merlin's sake. But sometimes I would dream about Hedwig, like maybe that I was Hedwig, cursed and falling and dead.

I worried that maybe the part of me that was Voldemort was me. Was the part of me holding everything together. Or was the strongest part of me. And now I'm nothing. I'm weak. I'm a mess.”

Saying this out loud led Harry to tear up. He hadn't said anything like that. He wasn't even sure if he had consciously realized he felt that way. Ginny's hand reached over and gripped his knee. Harry wanted to stop, but there was more.

“I ran into Neville at Colin's funeral. And we… Well, I don't know what we did exactly. My whole head is so fuzzy. We kissed and there was more. Not sex. I don't know. But then he was worried about me and he made me see his healer friend and she gave me all these calming potions.

“But tonight I took all of one instead of just a little bit. I just wanted… I was so sick of it. And I think it lowers inhibitions when you do that. And that it makes you feel a little high. And it's probably the only reason I can tell you all this.”

Ginny hadn't moved away. She still had her hand on his bare knee and was holding it. Her other hand was laced together with his fingers.

“After I drank all that potion, I was in Muggle London and I went to a pub and there was a bloke there. We… We wanked each other. It was… He was really fit and I liked it. But then I felt empty. And I missed you. And I wanted you so much. I wanted that with you instead. I love you.”

Harry shook his head. “I'm a complete wanker. You should hate me.” He couldn't stand being naked any longer. He grabbed for his jeans and pulled them on, not bothering with pants.

“I don't hate you,” she said. She hadn't left. She was still there. He felt the tears prickling at his eyes and tried to hold them back.

“I hate me.”

“Shut up,” she said, putting her hand back on his knee as he sat. “Listen. I don't mind if you're bent. It's fine. I snogged Luna last week.”

“You what?” Harry suppressed a hysterical laugh.

“I went to see her up the road and I told her about what happened with us. I had to tell someone. I mean, a girl. And sober. I got so drunk with George that night. I don't know if it helped really. I just needed to talk about it. She was all Luna about it, of course.” Ginny paused. “She said all this stuff about how people were just people and she would prove it to me. And then we snogged. For a long time too.”

Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. It certainly alleviated his sense of guilt. “Did you like it?”

“Oh, it was lovely. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't. Do you really not mind about the bloke earlier. Or Neville?”

Ginny paused, thinking. “I don't think so.”

“I'm done with it anyway,” Harry said. “It felt great right then, with the euphoria from the potion and the complete lack of worries. But then after, even with all that, I just felt so empty. And I remembered how much I loved you. I couldn't seem to remember that before.”

“I don't think it has to be that way,” Ginny said.

“Maybe. I don't know. I just know that I want to be with you. I...” Harry stumbled. He was shaking despite the warm air and he knew that the few hours of anxiety free, vivid world were fading, to be replaced by the real world. “I… I have to say all this. I want to marry you, Gin. And I want you to move into Grimmauld Place. And to have lots of kids. And to be normal. With you.”

Now she did move away, pulling her hand back and hugging herself. “Harry, I'm only seventeen.”

“When you finish Hogwarts, I mean. Not tomorrow or anything.”

“But… Do you know, I had a letter from Gwenog Jones? She said she's always impressed when any women get quidditch captain of any of the houses and that I should come to tryouts next summer.”

“That would be brilliant,” Harry said, feeling confused by this non-sequitor. “You on the Harpies would be totally brilliant.”

“But, I just mean, maybe I have other things I want to do.”

“You can do them!”

“You don't understand. I thought we'd get married. Or, I hoped. It was the only thing I wanted other than Voldemort dead and the Carrows and Snape gone. But then, last month, I thought we broke up. And I had to figure out what else I wanted. I want to travel, and play professional quidditch, and learn to play that Muggle sport Dean was always on about, and maybe… maybe I want to shag Luna. Or someone else. Maybe I don't want kids. Maybe I don't want to be normal.”

Harry felt like everything was falling apart around him. The potion, which had worked on him so quickly, faded nearly as quickly. Harry felt a wave of nausea flow over him. He put his head between his legs. “Fuck.”

“Harry, you… breathe for Godric's sake!”

He felt her arms on his back and her hands on his shoulders. “I fucked it all up,” he said.

“No! I love you. I… please don't do this!” she pleaded. “I don't want to break up. I just need time. You should take time too. You should go shag some bloke. You should travel. You should see what other things you want. And we should both take time to grieve and get over everything to do with Voldemort.”

He felt like he might be close to passing out, such were the mixed signals coming from his body.

“Harry?” she said.

“I don't think I've eaten anything all day,” he said, this fact suddenly coming to him through the haze. He'd had coffee in the early afternoon with Hermione. Then he had walked around all day. Then he'd had the potion and several pints at the Muggle pub.

“Shite.” She stood up and he could see her picking up her knickers to put back on and then his shirt was being pressed over his head. “Help me out,” she ordered, so he lifted his arms and pulled it the rest of the way down.

She tugged him to his feet. “Can you walk? I think we should raid the kitchen for you.”

“I can't!” he said, slightly panicked. “What about your parents?”

“I think they'd be more upset if I let you starve in the garden than if I brought you inside in the middle of the night.”

Harry felt his head swimming. This was the worst he'd felt since the day he'd seen Neville. Or maybe since the night he and Ginny hadn't had sex. He didn't think he could go in there and face Molly and Arthur having just had sex with their daughter in the garden after stealing her out her window. He felt like a horrible person. They would hate him.

He didn't think he said any of that, but suddenly Ginny was there, in his ear, forcing him up. “My parents love you, Harry. And they love me very much too. And they will not know what we just did. Do you hear me? And even if my mother is suspicious and nasty, then I'm going to protect you. You have to come with me. Right now.”

There was something wonderful about the idea that Ginny was in charge just then. For a year, everyone had been looking to him like he had all the answers and he never felt like he did. He was so bloody sick of being in charge, of being the savior.

So he stood up and followed her into the house, straight in through the front door and into the warm and familiar kitchen that still felt a bit like home, the first home where he'd ever been welcome. He sat at the table and when Ginny said eat this about a plate of cold, leftover roast with vegetables, he mechanically brought the fork to his mouth.

Arthur came in right after he sat and Ginny said brightly, “Look who I found,” as if it were normal to invite people into their kitchen at three in the morning. Harry closed out anything Arthur said or did. He was aware that Ginny and her father were talking, but he pressed his head down and refused to listen. If he faced Ginny's father, he was sure he would say something really stupid or he would panic again with guilt and shame.

“Harry, I'm going to go change,” Ginny said in his ear. “I don't think Mum would like seeing me in my nightgown with you. I'll be back. And I'm going to bring Ron. Assuming I can get him up that is.”

“Gin says you haven't been eating,” Arthur said, and Harry realized he was sitting right there at the table next to him. And then Arthur's arm was around him. “I'm glad you're here, Harry. Molly's been concerned about you. I want to make sure you know that no matter what happens between you and Ginevra, you're like a son to us.”

Harry nodded, just because he couldn't think what else to do. And then Ginny was back, with a very sleepy, annoyed Ron. She made him finish the plate of food, and it did feel good. The hubbub woke up Molly, who came in and tried to offer him a pepper up potion or possible a sleeping drought, both of which Ginny turned down firmly on his behalf.

“He's just hungry and then he needs to sleep, Mum.”

Harry felt so foolish, but Ginny kept giving him things to do: eat this, eat that, drink this, stand up, put the plate there. He knew it was stupid, but it helped.

“This is worse than before,” he managed to whisper to her. “I'll never take too much potion at once again, I think.”

She led him up the stairs to Ron's room. “You're going to go get some sleep now,” she said. “And in the morning, we'll talk and everything will be fine.”

“I still don't even know what's going on,” Ron complained, rubbing his eyes and flinging himself back on his bed. “Bloody middle of the night dinner parties.”

“Ron! Take the cot!” Ginny said.

“No bloody way,” he grumbled back. “Harry has twenty beds and his own house. If he wanted to sleep comfortably, he should have stayed home.”

Ginny grabbed her wand and pointed it at Ron's bed, shooting and engorgement charm at it and watching it double in size.

“There. You can share. Don't snog my brother.”

Harry laughed slightly.

“What the fucking hell sort of advice is that?” Ron asked. “Of course he wouldn't bloody snog me. And he'd better not have been snogging you in the middle of the night either,” Ron added from the bed.

Her arms wrapped around him. She was so warm and smelled so enticing. He remembered making love with her on the mossy ground and felt himself blush at the thought. “I love you. Go get some sleep.”

So he climbed in bed with Ron who mumbled, “I get nightmares too, mate. It's all right.”

There was something about being back in the Burrow that let him shut off everything for a little while and fall asleep.


End file.
